A/N: Hooray! My first fanfic! *^_^* Hope you guys like it; don't grade it too harshly, kudasai. ;_; I purposely did not put the subject person's name in here. It was intentional! I meant to do it! It's not because I'm a bad writer, honest! Yeah... o.O But since you guys are all wonderfully smart people (at least, smarter than me), I know you'll be able to guess who it's about. And if you can't.... then you'll have to live the rest of your life in TORMENT! BWAHAHAHA.. ::whap:: Ha. ahem Right. R/R, please, sankyuu! ^_^
* indicates emphasis on a word, or a sound
~ indicates thoughts/flashbacks
Wake
Harsh autumn wind snapped at his face and tugged at his clothing. He brushed aside a lock of violet hair, stopping at the edge of the sidewalk to wait for the "walk" sign. The sounds of Tokyo whirled around him. It drifted though his ears, loud and welcoming, but he heard nothing. He had buried himself inside his own head, his own thoughts. He heard nothing, except the trickle of tears he could not shed.
The "walk" signal flashed white. Automatically, his feet began to move; they went past the humming cars, through the mass of people jostling to get to where they needed to go. They traced the all too familiar route back home... home. He shivered and hugged his coat closer to his body.
A distant sparkle out the corner of his eye caught his attention. He stopped to look around. He was now in the quieter area of Tokyo, where old shopkeepers sat behind their wooden carts, selling trinkets and odds and ends. There.... another sparkle. A sixth sense lodged deep in his mind urged him towards the flickering light. Where was it coming from? And why-
"Oh..."
He let out a slow breath, his eyes wide with amazement. It was everywhere. It danced on his clothes, his hair, the wall, the wooden cart which jingled softly with hundreds of mirrors and glass wind chimes. The old lady smiled at him from her seat behind the car, yet he paid her no attention. All he could see were the mirrors, the multi-colored lights...
~"Yours always come out perfect, because you're gentle..."~
He gave a start, blinking. Where did *that* come from? Shaking his head briefly, he unhooked a small wind chime. Reds, blues, oranges... all the colors of the rainbow leapt out at him as he moved his wrist from side to side. Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of his own face in the little piece of glass amidst the dancing hues. It was sad, and tired; so very tired. Sad, tired, and ghastly pale against the vibrant colors. He wanted to reach out and grab those colors, cup them in his hands so they wouldn't fade away...
~He laughed at his beautiful creation. it floated serenely about his head, brilliant orbs of gentleness and love. He raised a chubby finger towards the shimmering bubble...~
"Would you like one, my dear? Special price, buy a wind chime and get a free mirror."
He stared at the smiling vendor, then at the tinkling wind chimes. His reflection stared back at him: sad, tired, pale, but alight with rainbows and brimming tears...
~It popped. Blinking in surprise, he stood there as soapy flecks sprinkled onto his face. No more colors. No more floating rainbows. It had disappeared... his face screwed up, tears prickling in his eyes. He didn't mean it... he didn't want tit to disappear...~
"Oh, there you are, sweetheart." He opened the apartment door to his mother's anxious face. "I was so worried, and you don't usually get home this late, and I-"
"It's OK, Mom," he interrupted, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm fine. Just-I just got a little side-tracked, that's all."
His mother breathed a silent breath of relief. She patted his hand lovingly before retreating to the kitchen. "Well, as long as you're all right. Dinner will be ready in an hour, all right, dear?"
"Yes, Mom." He exchanged his shoes with soft slippers and flip-flopped to his room. His bag he set carefully on his bed, but he did not take out his homework. He casually glanced at the mirror above his desk; no colors, only his face, now thoughtful and rosy from his brisk power walk back home. How he looked like him so! It was as if he had come back, gazing back with those indigo eyes...
"Good night, son," his father called softly. Homework was done and stacked neatly on his desk. The dishes had been cleared away, the kitchen dark and empty. His mother hovered in the background with her hand on the doorknob.
He gave them a weary smile and climbed into bed. "G'night."
The room slowly faded to black as the bedroom door closed. He didn't sleep. He lay motionless on his back, as night passed by slowly and bird song filtered through the walls.
Finally, he moved. His hair fell softly about his face as he sat up in bed. Carefully... noiselessly... he swung his legs onto the floor and pattered to his schoolbag.
~"Mine always pop because I blow too hard..."~
It just early dawn. The living room was slightly lit by the weak beams creeping through the windows. He crept towards on particular window; even in the semi-darkness, he could see that framed face as if it were the afternoon, staring, always staring. It was the eyes, those brilliant indigo eyes...
~"But yours always come out perfect, because you're gentle..."~
*Dling* He stood back, admiring his handiwork. They were back, floating about his head, all over the room.
~"...because you're gentle..."~
He reached up towards a rainbow with a slim finger.
*Dling*
It did not pop.
Some more A/N: It's over! (readers: ::cheer in unison::) Hope it wasn't too painful to read; all my writing skills have gone straight down the gutter since school let out. Now my brain is full of mush @_@ Ick. As you've probably figured out by now, this story is about Ken, and his, I dunno, "coming to terms" with his brother's death. I was watching a video of taped Digimon episodes, and the one with Ken remembering his brother in his sleep was on it. I bawled; I bawled like there was no tomorrow. This one shot fic was inspired by the scene with Ken blowing bubbles with his brother. Something about that just made my heart go twang, and I decided I had to write a fic about it. And here is the stoopid finished product, which, now that I think about it, probably isn't even physically possible as far as the sunlight and the mirrors and whatnot. But hey, I was in a sappy mood, my brain had long been melted by heat and vacation, and I'm lazy. Nyah.
* indicates emphasis on a word, or a sound
~ indicates thoughts/flashbacks
Wake
Harsh autumn wind snapped at his face and tugged at his clothing. He brushed aside a lock of violet hair, stopping at the edge of the sidewalk to wait for the "walk" sign. The sounds of Tokyo whirled around him. It drifted though his ears, loud and welcoming, but he heard nothing. He had buried himself inside his own head, his own thoughts. He heard nothing, except the trickle of tears he could not shed.
The "walk" signal flashed white. Automatically, his feet began to move; they went past the humming cars, through the mass of people jostling to get to where they needed to go. They traced the all too familiar route back home... home. He shivered and hugged his coat closer to his body.
A distant sparkle out the corner of his eye caught his attention. He stopped to look around. He was now in the quieter area of Tokyo, where old shopkeepers sat behind their wooden carts, selling trinkets and odds and ends. There.... another sparkle. A sixth sense lodged deep in his mind urged him towards the flickering light. Where was it coming from? And why-
"Oh..."
He let out a slow breath, his eyes wide with amazement. It was everywhere. It danced on his clothes, his hair, the wall, the wooden cart which jingled softly with hundreds of mirrors and glass wind chimes. The old lady smiled at him from her seat behind the car, yet he paid her no attention. All he could see were the mirrors, the multi-colored lights...
~"Yours always come out perfect, because you're gentle..."~
He gave a start, blinking. Where did *that* come from? Shaking his head briefly, he unhooked a small wind chime. Reds, blues, oranges... all the colors of the rainbow leapt out at him as he moved his wrist from side to side. Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of his own face in the little piece of glass amidst the dancing hues. It was sad, and tired; so very tired. Sad, tired, and ghastly pale against the vibrant colors. He wanted to reach out and grab those colors, cup them in his hands so they wouldn't fade away...
~He laughed at his beautiful creation. it floated serenely about his head, brilliant orbs of gentleness and love. He raised a chubby finger towards the shimmering bubble...~
"Would you like one, my dear? Special price, buy a wind chime and get a free mirror."
He stared at the smiling vendor, then at the tinkling wind chimes. His reflection stared back at him: sad, tired, pale, but alight with rainbows and brimming tears...
~It popped. Blinking in surprise, he stood there as soapy flecks sprinkled onto his face. No more colors. No more floating rainbows. It had disappeared... his face screwed up, tears prickling in his eyes. He didn't mean it... he didn't want tit to disappear...~
"Oh, there you are, sweetheart." He opened the apartment door to his mother's anxious face. "I was so worried, and you don't usually get home this late, and I-"
"It's OK, Mom," he interrupted, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm fine. Just-I just got a little side-tracked, that's all."
His mother breathed a silent breath of relief. She patted his hand lovingly before retreating to the kitchen. "Well, as long as you're all right. Dinner will be ready in an hour, all right, dear?"
"Yes, Mom." He exchanged his shoes with soft slippers and flip-flopped to his room. His bag he set carefully on his bed, but he did not take out his homework. He casually glanced at the mirror above his desk; no colors, only his face, now thoughtful and rosy from his brisk power walk back home. How he looked like him so! It was as if he had come back, gazing back with those indigo eyes...
"Good night, son," his father called softly. Homework was done and stacked neatly on his desk. The dishes had been cleared away, the kitchen dark and empty. His mother hovered in the background with her hand on the doorknob.
He gave them a weary smile and climbed into bed. "G'night."
The room slowly faded to black as the bedroom door closed. He didn't sleep. He lay motionless on his back, as night passed by slowly and bird song filtered through the walls.
Finally, he moved. His hair fell softly about his face as he sat up in bed. Carefully... noiselessly... he swung his legs onto the floor and pattered to his schoolbag.
~"Mine always pop because I blow too hard..."~
It just early dawn. The living room was slightly lit by the weak beams creeping through the windows. He crept towards on particular window; even in the semi-darkness, he could see that framed face as if it were the afternoon, staring, always staring. It was the eyes, those brilliant indigo eyes...
~"But yours always come out perfect, because you're gentle..."~
*Dling* He stood back, admiring his handiwork. They were back, floating about his head, all over the room.
~"...because you're gentle..."~
He reached up towards a rainbow with a slim finger.
*Dling*
It did not pop.
Some more A/N: It's over! (readers: ::cheer in unison::) Hope it wasn't too painful to read; all my writing skills have gone straight down the gutter since school let out. Now my brain is full of mush @_@ Ick. As you've probably figured out by now, this story is about Ken, and his, I dunno, "coming to terms" with his brother's death. I was watching a video of taped Digimon episodes, and the one with Ken remembering his brother in his sleep was on it. I bawled; I bawled like there was no tomorrow. This one shot fic was inspired by the scene with Ken blowing bubbles with his brother. Something about that just made my heart go twang, and I decided I had to write a fic about it. And here is the stoopid finished product, which, now that I think about it, probably isn't even physically possible as far as the sunlight and the mirrors and whatnot. But hey, I was in a sappy mood, my brain had long been melted by heat and vacation, and I'm lazy. Nyah.